I am looking for clarity amongst madness-
My birthday three days ago
and Mother's today.
We celibate our births
While lamenting the loss of the breasts
that gave me life.
What did I dream of 34 years ago as I nursed?
My hand absent mindedly grasping at my mother's hair
Her blouse
Her finger?
Did I dream at all
Or was I merely content?
Recently-
I have fallen in love with Dorothy Day
And I hope that she is never canonized.
I want her to be my saint.
I do not want to share her.
I want her all to myself in a cabin on the coast-
There
Our child would sleep contentedly between
us as the water boils.
We would make love on the bed
She and I-
Later I would pour her bath
Near to the wood stove.
She would smile at me in the dim light from the wash basin
I holing our child,
She content,
and me her good man.
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